Welcome to Bob's world.
A room enveloped in bleakness and darkness, a dodgy ceiling light flickers as water runs down the wire and drops on to the wooden boards below. A few steps lead upstairs, an upstairs no-one has seen for quite some time because the upper half of the staircase has caved in. On either side of the small puddle formed by the constant drip from the crack in the ceiling light are two red leather chairs. Both are occupied with contemptible looking figures - eyeing each other up cautiously - trying not to give too much away as they both slouch in their chairs, a posture both respectfully decree in their twisted but self-exalted minds as being not one of a passive behaviour, but of a feeling of realm over all of sight, not excluding each other.
'Hey listen man you know I'm good for. I'm good.', the man on the right flicks his hands out in a suggestive manner of self-approval.
'I'm not seeing any fine sterling.', the man to the left said, unresponsive in his body, 'No money, no dopey'.
'Hey listen I'll pay ya some other time, I haven't got it. I just need a bit ya know, just to keep me going'.
'A fella said the same thing last week. He still hasn't paid me.'
'Ya really think I'd do that on you. On you', the man on the right says as he raises up in his chair in nervous agitation, 'Come on bro I just a need a bit'.
'Hey man don't give me that brother shit, business is business, you know that.'
'Yeah but man, we friends, we friends.'
'Less of the friend shit too. I provide a service here. You haven't got no money for me to provide, ya know!'
'Man fuck you, I need my shit, my high, and you gonna not give me that. What's that about.'
'Catch your fucking tongue, ya know who you're talking to. Times are tight my little clucking chum.'
'Fuck you man I ain't the one that's clucking', the man to the right raises up with his hands on the arm rests, shaking.
'Look at you, you're shivering like a frightened damp dog. I ain't never like that, I know how to keep myself together.'
'Oh yeah look about you ya fucking druggy, look at your house ya fucking pig.'
'Watch your fucking tongue, I'm not going to tell you again. Anyways it goes with the lifestyle. I'm still with it though. I still see my mum, my dad, man look I've even enough time to feed my dog.'
'Yeah, and it's looking very healthy.'
'What the fuck you say bitch nigga?', the man on the left stands up in utter rage, takes one long stride towards the other man, and slaps him across the face sending him back in to the security of the chair.
'I've still got it you fucking dick. Look at me you little bitch, you say I can't even take care of my dog, you're in some fucking shit ya here', he lashes out with his hand, 'I've still got a life. You're just wasting away ya little rat.'
'Yeah fuck you, it's no wonder your business has gone to shit, you ain't what ya fucking used to be ya faggot'.
'Faggot huh', he says in a reflective tone, 'I'm gonna make you a faggot, how about that ya little fuckrat'.
The man on the seat looks up awkwardly, 'What', he cries nervously.
The standing man puts his hand in to his pocket, retrieving a gun.
'W-what ya doing with that. Hey man listen I ain't no problem aight. I'll just go, I'll just go.'
'You ain't going anywhere. In fact you ain't going anywhere ever again. That is unless you do as I say. Now listen to my words very carefully alrite'
'Yeah man whatever I gotta do. It's cool baby, it's cool.'
The standing man carefully places the end of the gun on the sitting man's lips.
'Down on the ground fuck'. The sitting man kneels down, becoming the kneeling man. He shoves the gun in to the man's mouth.
'So you thought you could come over here and fuck with me for a bit. Well boy, I'm gonna do a bit of fucking myself.'
The kneeling man starts blubbering like a little kid with no ice-cream, as the standing man brings the zip of his trousers down, places his fingers in through the hole and takes out his already half hard dick. Taking the gun away he slaps the dick on to the kneeling man's forehead.
'Gonna be a good boy now aren't ya', the standing man says as the kneeling man cries tears over the smelly balls that are resting on his lips.
'Now take it', the standing man shouts as he thrusts the now erect dick in to the kneeling man's mouth, making him gag as it hits the back of his throat.
Placing the gun to the terrified man's temple he reassures him of his position.
'Don't even think of biting down or this trigga finga will end up killing a nigga'.
The kneeling man is wide-eyed and completely lost in the terror. The standing man thrusts harder and harder, faster and faster in to the man's mouth, saliva dropping in globs on the cold hard floor. He slaps him various times in the face, his cheeks red raw.
'Oh fuck yes, that's it boy, you've got a purdy mouth', he laughs as he throws his head up at the ceiling.
Grabbing the back of the kneeling man's head he thrusts it faster and deeper in to the wet mouth.
'Fuck yes nearly there', he says as he looks down at the whimpering beaten face, 'time for you to go', his face contorts, as he pushes the trigger of the gun to the right temple and blows the kneeling man's brains out, blood covering the chair behind him.
The dead weight of the limp body still being held up by the standing man, he continues to fuck it repeatedly until with one last gasp he climaxes in to the dead man's mouth, throwing the lifeless body to the ground. As he gathers his thoughts and exhales long and deep he composes himself enough to bend down to pick up his trousers, but quickly stops as he sees something in the corner of his eye, a glint of some sort. He stands up slowly without the trousers, already knowing what he's in for. He doesn't move his head, only glancing out the corner of his eye at what seems like a reflective light off a pair of glasses in the doorway.
He stands completely still, not knowing what to do, but figuring he best do something, so he gulps down a wad of saliva and opens his mouth to speak.
'H-hey Bob', his tongue quivering.
'Hey Bruce, aren't ya gonna invite me in'.
The trouserless man becomes ever more panicky at Bob's indifference to the scene before him.
'Y-yes come in Bob, p-please'
'Why thanks Bruce', Bob said, pushing his leaned body from the doorway- a jaunty angle he had just become accustomed to- and walks to the chair where the now dead man sat. 'I was wandering when you were going to invite me in. You know it's quite rude having this little get-to-gether and not invite me. I like parties too Brucey', he chatted as he plumped himself down on to the chair, straightened his legs and placed his feet firmly on the dead man's torso.
'So what have we got. We've got a dead nigger who has just made a good foot-stool, and a live one with his trousers down round his ankles. It's not looking pretty now is it Bruce', he enquires.
'No Bob it ain't', Bruce responds, still motionless.
'Mmmm', Bob hums to himself. He looks down at the footstool. 'Ya know on closer inspection I'd say that was Errol. Is it?'
'Yeah Bob it is'
'And did I not tell you repeatedly not to be dealing with him'
'Yes Bob you did, I'm sorry'
'So why disobey me Bruce'
'Well Bob ya see.....', Bob clears his throat in an attempt to silence him.
'Bruce, you didn't obey me. That means we're not friends no more. Further more, that means you can't call me Bob no more. You call me Boss from now on, and I call you nigger. You understand?'
'Yes Bob, I mean boss..no, no, please', his response interrrupted as Bob takes out his gun, points it at the man's dick and blows it away in a mist of crimson.
'No more suckey suckey for you nigger'
Bruce falls to the fetal position, shivering and whimpering, too sore to even squeal or cry loud. 'Ya see Bruce I can't have underlings like yourself for one reason, well two really, but mainly one. Do you know what it is'. Bruce lay unresponsive, crying in pain, an ever increasing circumference of blood edging out from his crotch area, the trousers soaked.
'Ya cant talk, huh, well I'll tell you. You can't take orders. Twice tonight you have disobeyed me in this regard. First off I came in and what did I see, little Errol bent down before you. Now what you get up to in your personal life is of no importance to me, but, but, when that personal life becomes confused in to work-time I start to ask questions. Now as I said, I told you not to be in the presence of Errol, for he's good-for-nothing, and you obviously didn't obey me. And second, I told you not to call me Bob, but you and your cleft brain doesn't understand simple instructions and you called me Bob anyways. Well Bruce, that just won't fly as you niggers like to say, and guess what, whitey has to come along and put you back in your place. I hate to do it, I really do, but you niggers just don't know when to be smart, and it's the only way. So what did whitey have to do. Whitey had to put a bullet in a nigger's bollocks.'
Bob leans back in the mulchy chair, closes his eyes for a second, then looks at the table to the right of him. He spies a small jar full of gelatin capsules. Bob giggles, 'Mescaline I presume, oh Brucey you bad little minion, you haven't sold a thing. I'll be taking these back. But first, I'm feeling a bit tense, I need to loosen up, know what I mean.' Bob takes out a handful of capsules out, while at the same time reaches in to the inner pocket of his jacket for his hip flask. Placing the capsules in to the mouth he swallows the load down his gullet. Placing his head back again he closes his eyes.
After about ten minutes of relaxing in to the chair and creating small talk with the quiet Bruce, he spies a a flash of blue off to the left of his vision, while hearing an odd noise.
'Fuck how long was I out', Bob asks the nothingness.
Forgiving his paranoia he closes his eyes, but is jolted forward in his chair, his eyes wide open as he hears a voice in front of him. A hazy red can be seen in front of him. Why is it so fuzzy? Is it smoke or a cloud, maybe it's my eyes, he say inwardly as he rubs them. The picture becomes clearer and clearer until the image is in front of him, not a foot away, so vivid that if he reached out he bet he could touch it. What was before him was a five foot tall Minnie Mouse in a red and white polka-dot dress and miniskirt.
Wide-eyed and gripping the arm-rests, Bob sinks back in to the chair. Perspiration glides down from his brow, the trousers becoming tight-fitting as his dick grows with the excitement of seeing his favourite cartoon before him.
'My, what nice legs you have Minnie'
Minnie didn't replied. She slowly takes both her hands to her shoulders and seductively slips the dress from her body, showing her little mousey tits. Then that sexy and subtle plump stomach. Pausing for a second at her waist-line she teases Bob. Then she lets it fall to the ground. A little pink bow between her big black ears and pink high heels is all she adorns as the body begins to sway from side to side. The background scene of the room gives way to a smokey yellow colour, glisenting and sparkling with light.
Minnie turns around to show her tight black ass and bends over. Bringing her hands to her back she slides them down and places them over her ass, spreading her ass cheeks to reveal a tight pink asshole. Slowly shifting her head to the side she looks behind her and whispers, 'cum on my ass Bob'.
Bob rips his trousers down with haste, places his dick in his hand and jerks his length with maddening furore and rage, roaring in the sexual ecstasy.
'That's it Bob, cum all over Minnie's asshole', the mouse says, as she licks her top lip from left to right. Just as she does so, Bob grunts loudly and explodes hot cum all over Minnie's black ass cheeks and pink quivering ass hole.
'Mmmmm, good boy Bob, good boy'.
...................................................Bob's Dirty Hole(i)Bob's Dirty Hole(ii)